Hey,
I used to run an email newsletter. It was there primarily to promote my work and, for lack of a better term, “build my brand.” But mixed in there was a lot of deeply personal writing. (Most of my writing that’s not sports journalism or critical essays or fiction is deeply personal, and even then, I have a habit of baring my soul if not reined in by an editor.) It was good practice, but more to the point, it was a way for me to try and maintain connection in one of the few ways I knew how.
I unceremoniously stopped updating it about two years ago. I told people it was because I was going through some difficult stuff. And it’s true— I was. But there was more to it. I got to a point where writing personal things hurt too much.
Writing about my life is a way for me to get better at telling stories, and I stopped wanting to update that newsletter because I didn’t feel like I had good stories to tell. I didn’t have good stories to tell because I didn’t like myself or my life. Things were better at the end of that Tinyletter than they were at the beginning, but there was still this tremendous, seemingly insurmountable gap between where I was and where I thought I should be.
A lot’s happened in the past two years.
With this new newsletter, I’m coming back to the form (or is it genre?) because I feel like I have better material to work with.
In my previous newsletters, I signed off with a lacuna. I was, and still am, obsessed with words that don’t have a direct English translation. The one most Anglophone folks are familiar with is schadenfreude, but my personal favorite was saudade; a Portuguese word that can mean either, “longing for an absent other,” or, “nostalgia for a future that never happened.”
But one of my other, secret favorites was forelsket— the Norwegian word for the feeling of euphoria that comes when you fall in love.
That’s a good word for where I’m at now. It’s true for me in both a literal and figurative sense.
Literal, in that it’s exactly what happened to me earlier this year.
And figurative, because I finally feel like I have a life I want and not one that’s been foisted on me.
Late last year I moved out of a bad living situation. Among other things, that situation was the biggest reason why I delayed starting hormone replacement therapy; I picked up my first prescription three weeks after I moved out. Earlier this year, I went public with something I had been keeping to a few close friends— my name was Bridget.
I ended up moving again after a few months. I live with my partner and her husband now, and we’re starting the very long process of building a home together. I’m taking better care of my body. I started taking my mental and emotional hurt seriously enough to seek out help. How I dress and mediate my appearance is much different now, and the difference is that I actually give a shit about how I present myself. I’m seeing my friends more and pushing myself to go on adventures and make the most of the days I have. Goddess help me, I have a skincare routine now.
All this to say: for maybe the first time ever, I feel like I have a life worth living. This new newsletter is me shouting that from the rooftops. Kinda like when you fall in love.
I wrote this in my coming out letter of sorts earlier in the year:
There are times when the life I have now feels inexplicable. That I couldn’t have possibly imagined this particular future for myself. And yet, at every turn, this all feels exactly right. Like what I had imagined for myself previously were all affectations, pretender versions of a life I could’ve had if I lied convincingly enough. But I’m here now. This is my brightest timeline.
With all that’s happened, I think I’m ready to tell some better stories.
Take care,
Bridget